She heard someone say: ‘The Lady Joan, my lord.’
And he continued to gaze at her. Then he said: ‘For a moment I thought I was dreaming. You are so like …’
She herself answered: ‘All say I bear a resemblance to my mother.’
She noticed that his eyes were misty. He kissed her hand and said: ‘It delights me to see you here.’ Then he asked to be taken to his father.
He was very sad when he heard that his father had died; and divested of his armour, he went to that spot in the chapel grounds where the old man was buried and knelt by his grave for a long time.
Without his armour he looked less godlike, but not less handsome; and Joan was quick to notice the kindliness of his face.
She sat beside him at the table and he fed her the best of the meat. He talked to her in a gentle and kindly fashion and she knew that all she had heard of him was true.
He said: ‘I am many years older than you, my lady Joan, and you will have to grow up quickly. How old are you now?’
‘I am ten years old, my lord.’
‘It is a little young to be a bride. We must wait a few years.’
‘They say three or four,’ she answered.
‘Well, that is not so long. Shall you be ready by then, think you?’
She looked at the dark curling hair which grew back from the high and noble forehead, at the pleasant curve of his lips and answered: ‘Oh yes, my lord. Perhaps before.’
‘We shall see,’ he answered, smiling. And he asked how she had arrived and she told him her mother had brought her.
Then he was thoughtful and asked how her mother fared.
‘Well, my lord,’ she answered.
He nodded slowly.
‘I heard of her widowhood,’ he said, and fell silent. It did not occur to her then to tell him that her mother was close by at Angoulême.
He was thoughtful after that and when the meal was over he went away with his stewards and occupied himself in learning what had happened in the castle during his absence.
Joan went to her bedchamber, but not to sleep.
This was the most important day of her life. She had met her future husband.
A warm happiness suffused her. She was not afraid any more. Indeed she was looking forward to the day when she would become the Countess of Lusignan. Sometimes she thought of her terrifying father and it had occurred to her long ago, before she came to France, that it might one day be her lot to have such a husband. There could not be a man less like King John than Hugh le Brun, Count of Lusignan, and that was a matter for rejoicing.
They rode out together; she wanted to show him how well she knew his forests, how she could manage a horse. She wanted to please him in every way.
They spoke in French together for she had become fluent in the language; he went to the schoolroom and examined her work. She told him that now he was home she would work harder because she was so anxious to grow up quickly.
He smiled greatly and stroked her hair when she told him that, and she felt tears in her eyes but she was not sure why.
They played chess together and although she could not checkmate him she could come quite near to it.
‘I can see I am lucky in my bride,’ he told her.
And she answered: ‘And I in my bridegroom.’
The ladies and gentlemen of the castle looked on indulgently.
‘This will be a love match,’ they said.
Isabella came riding into the castle.
‘Is it true then?’ she cried. ‘The Count has returned?’
She was assured that it was true.
‘Tell him I am come,’ she said.
But the Count was hunting with a party in the forest and with him was the Lady Joan.
Impatiently she strode up and down the great hall.
Her cheeks were flushed; she had loosened her dark hair. Was it true that she looked like a young girl? She had borne five children; she had had many lovers; she had lived through twenty years of debauchery with the insatiable John. Could it really be that she looked like that young girl who had so enchanted Hugh that when he had lost her he had been prepared to go to war and had never taken another bride.
She believed she was as attractive as ever – more so for her experience. And he was no longer the young idealist he had been. He knew more of the world. He would want an experienced woman not an innocent young girl.
And what was she thinking? He was betrothed to her daughter. She laughed aloud at that. It was a trick of John’s to upset her. Was it not characteristic of him that he should think of betrothing her daughter to the man he knew she still thought of?
Why did he not come? What was he waiting for?
One of the women came to her.
‘You will be pleased, my lady,’ she said. ‘The Count is much taken with your daughter. They are often together and it gives us all great happiness to see them.’
Fool! thought Isabella and found it hard to stop herself slapping the woman’s face.
‘Is that so?’ she answered slowly. ‘The Count must be as gallant and courteous to ladies as he ever was.’
‘Oh, he is, my lady; and the little Lady Joan has a look of you when you were her age.’
What is the woman suggesting? she asked herself. That I am old and decrepit!
‘Leave me,’ said Isabella coldly.
There was a fierce determination in her heart. He was going to be as enamoured of her now as he had been when she was his child-betrothed, before she had been snatched away by the rapacious John who had given her a crown.
It seemed a long time before the party arrived.
She stood in the centre of the hall, waiting.
And there he was – Joan beside him.
He strode towards her and said: ‘Isabella.’
She laughed at him and held out her hand. ‘You remember me then?’
‘Remember you …!’ The break in his voice excited her.
‘It is so long. You have changed little, Hugh … since …’
He said: ‘You have become even more beautiful.’
She was exultant, triumphant. He had not changed at all. He was hers, she was sure of it. Her journey had not been in vain.
‘And here is my little daughter. What think you of her, Hugh?’
‘She bears some resemblance to you and therefore she delights me.’
Isabella held out a hand to her daughter and pulled her to her side.
‘It pleases me. We have waited long, Hugh, for your coming.’
‘I should have been here long since had I known,’ he answered.
Isabella was aware of the watching eyes of those gathered in the hall, many of them old enough to remember. Hugh seemed suddenly aware of them too.
‘I smell good venison,’ he said. ‘You will stay here with us … for a while.’
She bowed her head.
Then he left her and went to his chamber to wash off the mud of the chase and to change his garments.
Joan went to her chamber, slightly bewildered.
Her attendant said: ‘The Count is happy that Queen Isabella is here.’
‘I always knew they liked each other,’ said Joan.
At the table her mother sat on one side of him, Joan in her usual place on the other. All the time they talked. There was an excitement between them.
They are so pleased to see each other, thought Joan, that they have almost forgotten I am here. It is good, she thought, when two families which are to be united are the best of friends.
There was a scratching at Hugh’s door. He had guessed Isabella might come. She had implied it.
‘There is so much we have to say to each other, Hugh. It is not easy to talk with so many onlookers.’ She had said that while they ate. And there was a suggestion in her words. It was the reason why he had dismissed all those who would normally be in attendance in his bedchamber.